A Penniless Prospect. Joanna Maitland

immobile, too cold to move a muscle.

      Lord Hardinge lowered the glass on his side of the carriage and poked his head out. ‘Jamie! Down from there! Go and fetch me a tankard of ale. Look sharp, now!’

      Jamie hurried to climb down. She made a pretty poor showing, for her fingers were so cold she could barely grip the handholds. Seeing a waiter coming towards the carriage with a tray of tankards, she rushed to grab one and immediately dropped it. The ale splashed all over the waiter’s boots.

      ‘Why, you young—’ began the waiter, incensed, raising his free hand to strike Jamie.

      ‘That will do!’ commanded Lord Hardinge, flinging open the door and jumping down. ‘If my servants are to be chastised, I shall do it.’

      The waiter began to stammer an apology, but his lordship simply took a full tankard from the tray, threw down some coppers and turned away.

      ‘Come here, Jamie.’

      Jamie’s first reaction was to run, but her frozen limbs would never have moved fast enough. Keeping her eyes lowered, she approached her intimidating benefactor. He sounded much less angry now than when he had shouted at the waiter, but still…

      ‘Show me your hands.’

      Jamie did so. They were thin and blue. The filthy fingernails stood out starkly.

      ‘Have you no gloves?’

      Jamie shook her head, still gazing at the ground.

      His lordship put a hand on her frozen cheek. Suddenly it seemed as if all the blood in Jamie’s body had rushed to that spot. She felt sure that the outline of his fingers was impressed in brightest scarlet on her burning skin. And that same quivering of all her body had returned.

      ‘Why, you’re frozen to the marrow, lad. No wonder you dropped that tankard. I should have known. You’re much too thin—and as for these clothes… Well, you’d better come inside with your sister, before I have your death on my conscience.’

      Jamie did not move. She was still trying to come to terms with the strange effects this man had on her.

      ‘Don’t just stand there, boy.’ It sounded as if the Earl was beginning to regret his generosity. ‘Come, jump in.’ He gave Jamie a hearty push towards the carriage.

      As Jamie climbed in, she registered the shock on the abigail’s face. No wonder. Spending hours under the eagle eye of Lord Hardinge might well lead to discovery. Jamie dared not utter a sound. Annie busied herself with chafing Jamie’s hands and clucking over her like an anxious mother hen.

      ‘Enough, Smithers, enough!’ snapped Lord Hardinge. ‘I have no objection to your helping your brother to get warm but, for heaven’s sake, do it without all this gabblemongering!’

      Looking chastened, Smithers lapsed into silence. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep again.

      Jamie soon found herself the only one awake. Cautiously, she sat up in her corner, pushing her hat back from her eyes and flexing her fingers, which tingled painfully as the sensation returned. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief to deal with the drip on her nose. She did not have one, which reminded her that boys like simple Jamie never used them, so she experimented with wiping her nose on her sleeve instead. Ugh!

      But what did that matter? She had escaped! She might never again live the life of a gentlewoman, but her future was now her own to decide. She paused to savour the luxury of the carriage, its deeply cushioned seats and the pervasive smell of rich leather. Nothing at Calderwood was half so splendid. And if Lady Calderwood had owned such an equipage, she would never have allowed her hated stepdaughter to set foot in it. Jamie sank back in her seat, longing to shout with exultant laughter.

      Opposite her, Lord Hardinge moved in his sleep. He had removed his hat, presumably so that he might doze more comfortably. Jamie found herself gazing at him. It was such a handsome face in repose—thick, arched black brows, a finely chiselled nose, perhaps a little long, a generous mouth made for smiling, and a strong chin, slightly cleft. His thick dark hair became him, even in disarray. Jamie found herself wondering about the colour of his eyes. Dark, she supposed, like the rest of him, unconsciously raising her eyes to look again at his face.

      Cobalt blue eyes bored into hers! Lord Hardinge had been watching her, just when she thought she was safe. And his eyes seemed to be able to see into the depths of her being! She shuddered visibly.

      Glancing at the still-sleeping abigail, the Earl frowned across at Jamie, his face very stern. ‘Satisfied, are you, lad?’ he asked in a menacing whisper.

      Jamie shuddered again.

      Lord Hardinge’s expression softened slightly. ‘Don’t worry, Jamie. I am not angry.’ His voice seemed less hostile now. ‘But you really must not stare at your betters in that insolent way. It could earn you a beating in some houses.’

      Jamie began to stammer an incoherent apology.

      ‘Forget it,’ interrupted his lordship sharply, closing his eyes once more.

      Jamie held her breath for a long time, trying to control her racing pulse and fearing another onslaught from the powerful man sitting opposite her.

      The carriage remained silent. It seemed that Lord Hardinge had had enough of the boy Jamie, at least for the present.

      Jamie looked enviously at the abigail, sleeping peacefully alongside her. If only she dared to close her eyes too. She was so tired—and the growing warmth inside the carriage was making her eyelids droop. But it was too great a risk. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She must not sleep where he might watch her. She must not.

      At the next change, the Earl allowed them both a bite to eat and a mug of ale. It tasted foul, and much too strong, but Jamie could find no reason to refuse it. Ten minutes after they had moved off, she began to succumb to the effects of the alcohol and her sleepless night. Her eyes closed, but still she struggled to stay alert.

      ‘I am glad your brother is asleep, Smithers, for I want to talk to you about him.’

      ‘Yes, my lord?’

      ‘From what you have told me, he would make a pretty poor bootboy. Much better to place him as apprentice gardener on a large estate.’

      ‘Yes, my lord. I intend to do so, if such a situation can be found. But—’

      ‘It can be. I need just such a boy on my own estate. I shall take him.’

      ‘I thank you for your offer, but we can’t accept it. You see…’ The abigail’s voice trailed off. She seemed to be fast running out of excuses.

      ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth, Smithers?’

      His slightly raised voice penetrated Jamie’s half-slumber. At the sound of the word ‘truth’, her eyes snapped open.

      ‘I don’t understand…’ began Smithers.

      ‘Gammon. You know very well. No woman of your station carries all her worldly goods with her on a three-day trip to Bath. You have been dismissed from your post, I collect, and are hoping to find another in Bath. Well?’

      ‘It is true, my lord,’ agreed Smithers in a whisper. ‘Lady Calderwood would not keep me at the Hall after your visit. She decided…she believed…’ Her voice tailed off miserably.

      ‘Indeed? And so both of you are turned out into the world again? I must say it makes me wonder why you will not accept my offer for Jamie.’ There was an edge of irritation in his deep voice as he stared suspiciously at the abigail. The handsomeness of his face in repose had been replaced by a frown which drew his black brows together in a hard line.

      Smithers began to stammer a little. ‘I…I was hoping to find a situation where we could be together, so that I could look after him. You know what I mean, I think.’

      ‘Yes, I do know. There is no need to elaborate. I assure you, he will come to no harm under my roof.’ He paused